No idea if she’s after information or not, but I keep my mouth shut.
We drive in silence, the elaborate gardens and grand houses giving way to mini-mansions that are no less impressive. I grew up in a three-bedroom bungalow in a nice enough area. Nothing like this.
“Are we going to a mall?” I ask.
“Yes, Cherry Tree.”
“Do they have Old Navy or Nordstrom Rack?”
Rachel just blinks. “I’m not sure.”
“It’s just…I’m on a budget.”
“Alice,” she says, her hands stilling on the iPad. “You don’t need to worry about that. Arrangements have been made.”
“What do you mean?”
“I realize this might seem a little odd, but I’d ask that you trust me.”
“Trust you with what exactly?”
“Here we are,” she says.
We’re already pulling up to the curb outside a sprawling and rather magnificent mall. It’s all glossy brown and black stone and quite possibly the grandest shopping complex I’ve ever seen. Chances are, I couldn’t afford a coffee in this place. A man in a gray-checked two-piece suit stands waiting on the sidewalk. He’s about a decade older than me and a hundred times more stylish. The aqua-colored tie confirms it. Behind him stands an older lady in a silk floral jumpsuit. I’m not just out of my depth here, I’m drowning.
“They’re personal shoppers.” Rachel searches in her handbag, pulling out a black credit card. “They’ll help you today. Just give them this.”
“Is that Beck’s?”
“The card? Yes.”
“No.” I shake my head. “I’m not…that’s not something I’m okay with.”
For a moment, she just looks at me. “Alice, you have ethics and I applaud that. It’s refreshing, really. But the fact is, you’re dating an Elliot and in this town that means something. I don’t mean to be harsh, but the way you look now does not fit into this world.”
“I know I’m not as—”
“Now, I do not doubt that you have a wonderful personality. But I repeat, you do not fit,” she says in a not unkind voice. “And while you’re part of this world, you need to. Otherwise, you’re going to cause unnecessary friction for both Beck and yourself. With his family, his friends, people he does business with…pretty much everyone.”
My secondhand Levi’s feel so judged right now. Which is bullshit because I love them. And yet.
“It is not going to be smooth, Beck sliding back into his old life here. Especially not with Jack’s death. Beck ruffled a lot of feathers when he left the way he did and now again with bringing you here. If you let the personal shoppers help you, then you’ll be one less thing he needs to worry about.”
“Since you have his card, I take it Beck knows about all this?” I ask.
“When I saw him this morning, I told him I was taking you to lunch and that there might be extra expenses.”
“So you didn’t tell him.”
She stares off into the distance with a faint line between her brows. “I find matters like these are often best sorted out between us girls.”
These fucking people.
“It’s your choice of course, Alice,” she says. “All I can do is encourage you to see the big picture and move forward in a way that will bring you the best chance of success.”
For a moment I just sit there, staring at the hands in my lap, at the chips in my black nail polish. Also, my cuticles are a mess due to me picking at them. One of many annoying nervous habits. It feels like control is being stripped from me and I don’t like it. At least Beck isn’t behind any of this bullshit. And as much as I’d like to tell Rachel what she can do with her opinion, she was one of the few people who was kind to Beck when he was left alone by his dad as a kid. There’s a lot to consider.
But do I want to fit in with his family? That’s the question.
I definitely don’t want him to think I’m here for his money. However, I don’t want to reflect badly on Beck, either. This is the truth of the matter. And tensions are indeed running high. God knows what he’s going through dealing with everything right now. God knows why exactly I’m even here. However, while I am, I want to be a good thing in his life. Something he doesn’t need to worry about.
She holds out the card with a sympathetic smile. “Every relationship requires compromise, I’m afraid.”
True enough. I’m just not sure about this particular one. The card is thicker, heavier than anticipated. I slip it into the inside pocket of my handbag for safekeeping. If money means power in this world, then I’m holding on to what little control I have. A cold wind slaps me in the face. The Rolls engine purrs to life and Rachel is gone. I hang my head back and look at the clear blue sky. Given how my day is going, it’s amazing a passing bird doesn’t just shit on me. Honestly.
“Hi,” I say to the waiting dynamic shopping duo. They’re so sophisticated. Bet they sit front row at fashion shows. “I’m Alice. Um, I don’t know what you’ve been told, but just a couple of outfits will be more than enough. No need to overdo it, right?”
They share a silent look.
I’m sequestered in a changing room larger than my apartment. It has plush white carpet with a couple of matching sofas, and ginormous gilt-edged framed mirrors. People rush back and forth fetching lingerie, shoes, evening gowns, active wear, and everything in between. Not all of the outfits fit. I won’t even try all of the suggested outfits on (beige people shouldn’t wear beige). However, we’ve managed to find a few different things that work. There’s a garment rack full of rejected outfits, another of possibly maybes, and half a rack of yes please.
And in walks the woman Beck admitted to avoiding at the wake. Yikes.
“Not bad,” she says, looking me over before directing a young man to deposit a collection of shopping bags from various stores to one side of the room.
Considering the amount of Spanx I’m currently wearing and the fact that I can barely breathe, you’d think I’d at least earned a solid good. The black Oscar de la Renta–pleated stretch-wool midi dress I have on is nothing short of beautiful and I wish to be buried in it. Same goes for the leather booties. So maybe despite all of my protestations and fears about selling out, I like expensive-people fashion sometimes after all. Label me a hypocrite.
I am, however, done for the day. Normally I like shopping. I even love it. But three hours of people trying to convince me I’d look great in neo-mint (whatever that is), yolk yellow, and electric blue, before attempting to sell me on feathers, puffy power shoulders (while I respect Anne of Green Gables it’s a hard no from me), and a silk boiler suit, is a lot. More than I can handle, apparently. I won’t be coerced or bullied into getting anything that doesn’t feel like me. And while the personal shoppers aren’t happy, that’s not my problem.
“Hi,” I say. “I’m Alice.”
Her gaze jumps to mine. “Sorry. Selah. Nice to meet you. We crossed paths briefly at the wake. You might not remember.”
“I remember.”
A nod and she looks away. “I’m Rachel’s assistant. She sent me over to check on how everything was going.”